


Redemption

by SpartanM255



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7838161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanM255/pseuds/SpartanM255
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The is a story of Sauron overcoming the corruption of Morgoth which had been holding him for so long. Being able set his will unshackled on the things he needs to do. Many other living things have been dragged down the path he had walked, some he had set on that path himself. Can he save them from the damnation he, and Morgoth had wrought. Sauron is now set on doing just that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dark Lord

Barad Dur

The halls of Barad Dur were unusually crowded for the evening, or at least they seemed so to the young servant girl, Valana. She had been given over from her home in Harad to serve in the Dark Lord’s great tower on her twelfth birthday. It was an immense honor to be allowed to look upon the tower fortress from up close, but as a servant she lived within its very halls; so very close to their people’s ruler. A ruler whom many believe to be a god. She has lived in Barad Dur for seven years now, and her family has been elevated in social status as a result. Being poor, and little more than slaves they rose significantly. The family having been poor and under privileged had no way of teaching her to read or write, these skills however she was taught as training for her position. It was many times required for her to read messages and write letters for the nobles and military commanders that visited.

Now though she just had to set out the food for a gathering in the throne room. She was so familiar with the task it was reflexive by now. So she distracted herself with observing the crowd that began to fill the room. All of them seemed to be of the highest levels of the Dark Lord’s army. Several generals of Rhun were among the first to enter.

Even the Supreme Commander of Rhun, Darhalan, was present. The man was large a head taller than the generals, and quite noticeably brawny under his burgundy armor. A red cape flew behind him as he walked, and a crudely spiked mace bounced on his hip, a weapon that seem it would take two hands to wield, but she suspected the Supreme Commander held with one.

Next she noticed the Harad ambassadors one being a distant cousin she met recently. Last in the group were sorcerers with their staves, and strange robes. She envied what they could do, but never understood why they wore what they did.

The hall had been in constant chatter since the crowd showed up, eating, laughing, and some angered yelling. All the sudden though all talk ended, and it seemed as though any joy that was present in the men’s faces died. The only sound was the clanking of metal against stone. The footsteps of the Witchking as he entered the room.

In fear and reverence she took her first look at the legendary right hand of Sauron. Covered almost completely in pitch black robes. With only his black armored hands and feet exposed, aside from his distinct helmet. It seemed as though everyone in the hall feared to speak now that a Nazgul had appeared. The Witchking cast his gaze over at the table directly at her, and began to approach. She froze stiff feeling that her life was done when the Lord of the Nazgul made his way to her.

He stopped at the table, and still looking at her spoke, “I desire a drink.”

She felt a chill run down her spine. The words seemed to hold no anger, and his voice even had a fairly deep pleasant tone, but there was still an echo that sounded as though it came from another world. Frozen for a moment she responded. “W-Wine my lord?”

The Witchking nodded, and she quickly got a glass and poured it full for him. Before he grabbed the cup he reached up to his helmet, and started to raise it from his head. The poor servant girl waited in terror anticipating the faceless void under his helmet to be replaced by a ghostly and decrypted face she expected the Nazgul to possess. Then her mouth dropped with surprise.

Under the helm was a face of a man. Not the withered husk of an undead, or the aged visage of an old man. Behind that metal mask, that made it seem as though nothing but darkness laid behind, was the gruff but definitively handsome appearance of a noble blooded warrior. His features somehow spoke of his royalty while having the strong jawline of a veteran combatant. She also just noticed the man was at least seven and a half feet tall, boasting a powerfully built body.

The Witchking noticed the amazement on the girl’s face, a look of amusement crossed his face. “I see it was unknown to you that my Lord restored my fleshly body to me. The shock is clear in your expression.”

The girl’s eyes widened in terror realizing she likely insulted one of the most powerful beings in Middle-earth. Bowing her head low she sputtered, “I-I apologize m-m-my Lord. I beg your forgiveness. I was simply stunned by your attractiveness.” She hoped that her not false statement might spare her his wrath.

“Thank you my lady your complement is quite welcome.” He was a little taken back that anyone let alone a servant girl had the courage to actually admit her surprise. “I cannot however forgive you simply by your asking.”

She felt it, this was her last moment in this world. “Please my Lord allow me to do something to make it up to you.” She started to regret the words as soon she spoke them. From what she heard he was likely to torture her until she asked for death, or just end her life without a second thought. A darker thought came to her mind considering he was a flesh and blood man he may have other desires now.

“There is one thing you could do.” The Witchking’s words gave her a bad feeling that her last thought was dead on. “Pour me another glass of wine, and I’ll forget everything. Except the flattery of course.”

Relief washed over her for so many reasons, and she smiled genuinely at the King of Dread. “Certainly my Lord.” 

She refilled his cup, and pushed it in front of him. The Witchking downed it in one drink, and tilted his head in a gesture of thanks. Then he donned his helmet again, and left to join the leaders before the throne. She was astounded that she actually enjoyed his company aside from the constant fear of being killed.

A loud thud drew the crowd’s attention to the front of the room. From the doors beside the throne stepped out the Mouth of Sauron. The great sorcerer Sauron used to convey his will.

“Lords of the dominions of our great Lord Sauron, be quiet for our Master will soon arrive.” The Mouth dropped to his knee, and the rest of the audience followed.

The servants all lowered their heads at the same time. Valana was ecstatic in her seven years of living and working in this tower she had not once been lucky enough to see the Dark Lord herself. Though for now she had to keep her head down.

A common sound heard in the tower echoed through the room. The sound of armored footsteps. As they got closer she could tell they were heavy footsteps, and they were only increasing in volume. By the time they walked through the throne side door it sounded like an armored troll were approaching. Then soon after she heard him sit in the throne.

“Rise” The single word spoken in the deepest voice she had heard reverberated through the hall. It seemed to contain so much power that everyone in the hall was more forced to their feet then simply obeying the command.

Valana’s eyes went straight to the front of the room, the throne. Gazing for her first time at the ruler of her people she instantly realized that the stories fell short of describing him. When she first saw the throne she thought it was so large to symbolize the great power of the owner, but now she saw it was so large simply because any smaller, and it could not fit him in it.

The tales she heard from her parents said Sauron preferred the form of a huge black knight. A warrior that dwarfed all in size and strength. The stories now seemed to fall utterly short somehow. Valana was looking at a man over ten feet in height. The close by Mouth was fairly thin in comparison to the brawny warriors of the hall, but next to the Lord of Mordor he was barely more than a twig-like figure. 

The giant man was sitting casually in his throne, but the red glow of his eyes made her feel dread she had not known before. They seemed to be burning with hate, and she felt as though his presence, even as far away as he was, brought with it a pressure that threatened to crush her at any moment should she cast a glance at the wrong time. Even so she forced herself to look so she could know firsthand what the Dark Lord was like.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Sauron looked over the crowd even noting the servants standing behind the tables. As with most of his subjects they looked away when he cast his sight in their direction. Then he perceived her, a young servant girl with olive brown colored skin. Her eyes were peering straight back at him. Sauron focused his eyes beyond any mortal’s ability, and he was right this girl was holding his gaze. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald green, and it seemed that a hint of defiance were contained within them, but defiance of what he wondered.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Valana felt her heart pounding in her chest. She thought at first it was just coincidence that he looked in her direction, but now he seemed to be staring directly at her. Did she offend her lord by looking at him so long? In reality only seconds passed while their eyes met, but it felt to her like hours. She wanted to look at the ground, but she was too afraid to look away.

“Begin the feast.” At his words Valana’s heart leapt into her throat but she calmed when she realized what he said.

The first to approach her table was the Supreme Commander. He piled his plate with roast boar, pheasant, and Murmakil. It seemed the Leader of Rhun liked his meat with a side of meat.

Looking at Valana he ordered, “Pour me a pint of a Númenorean whiskey girl.”

“Yes my lord.” As she poured she couldn’t help but feel insulted by his tone. After the gentlemanly treatment she received from the Witchking she assumed the other lords would be the same. Speak of the devil.

“Derhalan that is no way to speak to a lady.” The Witchking moved to his side filling a plate of his own.

“Keep your words to yourself ghost. The opinions of a dead man interest me less than the dirt I walked on yesterday.” Darhalan breathed spitefully.

Without uttering a word the Witchking raised his hand, and backhanded the Commander with enough force to knock the large man to the ground.

“You forget who I am!” The Witchking stated with anger filled words, “I am second only to Sauron.”

Darhalan rose to his feet, “I think it’s about time that changed.” 

In a sudden motion he threw his fist at the Witchking’s face. Without flinching the Witchking stopped the punch with one hand. The blow had so much power behind it a loud clap, almost like thunder, sounded through the hall. The Nazgul squeezed the Commander’s fist, until the pain of it caused him to fall to his knees.

“That’s more like it.” He finally let go, “You should bow before a king. Now apologize to the young lady.”

“My lord it was no offense. I’m not a lady, just a servant girl.” Valana tied to cool the situation.

“I am sorry my lady ah” Darhalan gritted his teeth, “for any uh offense given.”

The Witchking released the commander’s hand and waved for him to leave. Then he looked back to Valana inclined his head and left. She was honored someone as powerful as the Witchking stood up for her but, she wished it hadn’t caused anyone trouble. The Supreme Commander of Rhun might blame her for what happened, and what could she do to protect herself against someone that powerful.

Caught up in her thoughts she did not notice the stirring in the hall, nor did she see the crowd clearing a path. Sauron approached the girl directly, but it seemed to him that she was caught up in thinking about something, distressing maybe? He stopped in front of the table looking down at the girl, but she was still oblivious to his presence. While the rest of the hall’s attendants stared with bated breath, wondering why the Dark Lord approached this servant girl.

Valana, still searching for ideas on how to apologize to Darhalan, grew annoyed, and frustrated. Why did she have to kiss up to some asshole who brought what he got on himself? It didn’t make sense, it wasn’t fair, and it made her angry.

“You bastard!” Valana yelled louder than she intended, also unfortunately for her the ever present chatter had stopped.

Then she noticed the black armored figure standing in front of her, and her heart sank. She moved her gaze upward until she had to back up, and crane her head to finally see the glowing red eyes that looked at her through the black void within the helmet. With horror clear in her features she just stood there too afraid to speak. No one amongst the crowd dared break the silence either for fear they might join the now doomed girl’s fate.

A deep short “Hmph” came from Sauron, and filled the quiet. “I assume by the shock, and fear in your eyes that you were not speaking to me.”

To her relief she could hear the slight amusement in his voice; quickly she tried to respond but it came out as little more than a whisper, “Of course not my Lord.”

“Assuage your fear mortal I’m not going to kill you.” The giant waved for the rest of the crowd to stop staring and instantly they began talking to each other, “Now mortal what is your name?”

“Va-Valana my Lord.” She could scarcely believe that the ruler of her people would bother to ask.

“Valana. You have good eyes Valana.” Sauron paused a second at the sight of surprise on her face, “They seem to glow as if they were stars.”

Now she thought she must have gone insane. No one has ever given her such a compliment, the last thing she expected to happen after yelling “You bastard!” to Sauron himself was him saying she had eyes as pretty as the stars.

“Thank you my Lord.” She spoke with true joy, and finally got the courage to ask something she always wanted to, “Is it true you are a god my Lord? I mean you referred to me as mortal so that means you are immortal right?”

“No. I am not a god.” He replied surprised she had the boldness to ask, “I cannot die as others, but that doesn’t make me a god. Goodbye Valana I should speak with Murazor, and the others.”

Before she could reply Sauron turned, and walked in the direction of the Witchking. His personality seemed to differ greatly from the stories she had heard when she was a kid, or the stories she heard from other servants in the tower. According to those stories she would have been locked up in cold cell to be tortured daily for yelling at the Dark Lord.

Then out of nowhere an exquisitely tailored blue robed figure appeared in the center of the room.

“Sauron!” The man called out, “This world has long enough been plagued by your evil. The Valar offered you a chance to face your crimes, but you rejected our gracious offer. So I have come to end it!”

“Irmo.” Sauron only slightly annoyed by this intrusion, “Your arrogance is well suited to represent the will of the Valar.”

“You dare speak to me in such a way betrayer?” Irmo grew angered, “You are no more than one of the Maria. Your kind was always meant to serve as the Valar’s servants.”

The Mouth of Sauron had heard one insult to many against his Master. The Sorcerer gathered green arcs of lightning and sent them crackling toward the intruder. The Valar held one hand out and caught the dark magic without any effort. Then after the Mouth poured more power into his attack the Valar threw a white bolt of lightning to counter. The bolt surged through the dark magic, and struck the Mouth in the chest causing him to spasm, and his flesh to burn painfully.

“You seem to be surrounded by weakness Sauron.” Irmo took pride in the ease with which he defeated the Sorcerer, “I guess it’s time…”

Irmo jumped back at the sight of Sauron standing just a few feet in front of him. He did not notice before, but Sauron’s current form was massive, and the red glow from his eyes seemed to warn him of the power he was facing. Even so Irmo would not relent. He summoned a torrent of lightning serval times stronger than that he used on the Sorcerer. The black stone floor turned red form the heat, and the room became so bright that Valana and the rest of the servants had to close their eyes. Then he cast the concentrated magical force toward Sauron tearing the ground apart as it advanced toward him. Without changing his footing Sauron created an orb of dark power, and threw it into the oncoming attack; the two opposing magics canceled one another out. Irmo stunned still managed to channel his next spell, but Sauron beat him to it. He cast a spell that would rip the soul out of mortal creatures, but the Valar was powerful enough to survive. Almost drained to the point of his physical form’s death Irmo teleported away unable to continue fighting.


	2. Raising Tides

Nurnen

Here in the greenest part of Mordor Aureil was able to focus on how best to keep the armies of Sauron hobbled. It would be another week before her supply team could smuggle the equipment she needed for another big raid. She didn’t have the arrows needed to take another shot at freeing the slaves in the Udun mines. The only other thing she could do with what she had is drawl out the Black Hand of Sauron, and finally end him. Just as she decided the course her and her elves should take, Glorfindel the Balrog slayer entered the war room. He was easily recognized by his large size, golden hair, and well-worn armor.

“My lady I have done what you asked.” The huge elf spoke in the Sindarin tongue with a hint of pride in his voice, “The trolls that were gathering there were indeed being armored for war. The letters I found, what little I could read, said they were bound for Gundabad.”

“The dwarves of the Lonely Mountain.” Aureil thought, “What would Sauron gain by bringing them into this war?”

“I do not know.” Glorfindel began to smile, “As for the mission you asked me to accomplish. The trolls are dead, and the graug that came uninvited.”

“If it were anyone else I’d say that was foolish.” Aureil shook her head but smiled inwardly, “Any leads on the Black Hand?” She saw his answer in his eyes. “Well with the gathering of the leaders of Sauron in Barad-Dur we can only stay here in the outer lands of Mordor. We need to lay low until they pass.”

He snapped his fingers. “You could ask Grimug to spread dissention.”

“You want me to rely on an orc?” she rolled her eyes.

“Actually he’s an uruk, but anyway I think he likes you.” Glorfindel held up his hands for her to let him finish, “Which I think means he will do it to try to impress you. He has come through before; remember when he told you our base in Udun was discovered.”

“I guess this would be a decent time to see how far he’ll go to help us.” Against her better judgment she conceded, “Okay you meet him with your choice of guard. If anything goes wrong I trust you to end him, and make it back.”

The large warrior bowed then put on his helmet as he left to complete the task. Then Aureil saw a flash of light and a man appeared from it.

“Lórien!” She called in the High Speech, and could see his life force was dim, “How did this happen?”

“First off my name is Irmo, I live in Lórien.” The weakened Vala wobbled on his feet. “Second is that I underestimated this Sauron with the Ring of Power he has.”

“How could he be stronger than one of the Valar, he is just a Maiar.” Aureil questioned what she heard.

“Sauron always was an exceptionally powerful Maiar the strongest of his order, but it seems he has grown stronger than me.” Irmo clenched his fist in anger, “This was supposed to be a quick end to the evil that remained after Morgoth.”

“I did warn you it would not be wise to face him alone.” She reminded one of the most powerful of the ancient powers of Arda. “The only reason you escaped was because he let you go, you know that right?”

“What!” now he was furious, “You dare lecture me young elleth I saw the rise and fall of the great Noldorian Kingdoms of old. I know the mind of evil better than you ever will.”

Aureil had thought he seemed prideful after their first meeting, but she doubted one such as a Valar could have such base pride. Now she could see she was wrong, this one at least was not as pure as she heard from her mother.

“And how many years have you spent fighting that evil, Lord of Aman?” She added a mocking edge to her voice when she called him lord, “I have spent centuries in conflict with Sauron. While you Lords of the West have been idle.”

“I should wipe you from Arda for…” he started.

“In your current state you are barely strong enough to stand.” She had had enough of this, “Leave now! By my knowledge you were able to enter the Land of Shadow, and I will let you leave, but you will not enter with my help again. Return to your gardens in the blessed realm.”

Not daring to say any more with his power drained he left to Valinor. Aureil was profoundly disappointed with her first meeting of Valar, and decided she was best off relying of the people of middle-earth rather than the being across the sea.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Glorfindel moved quietly through the green fields, keeping a good five hundred paces between himself and any caragors he saw. He made sure to choose three of his most trusted hunting partners, and his best friends. Neranthuir a silvan elf that could blend in to any environment and stay unseen if he wished. He is also skilled with a bow like the rest of his people. Eul a dark elf, one of the very few under the leadership of Aureil. His night eyes are sharp, and his skill with hidden blades makes him the best assassin among them, and his dark bluish skin with black armor lets him fade into the dark. Mireil a skilled healer from Imladris, and decent with spells meant for ending life. With this band of elves he was confident he could handle any number of expected of unexpected problems.

After miles of lush green fields, and forests they came to the desolate wastes of Udun. This place is mined for metals, and used as a staging area for the armies of Modor. He was thankful that Grimug stayed on the border near Nurnen, so he didn’t have to go far into the orc infested pit. Glorfindel actually trusted this Uruk, but he still couldn’t throw away his caution so he ordered Neranthuir to take cover in the rocks, and he had Eul stay in the dark out of sight. Then he and Mireil were the only one that would meet Grimug in the open. Not far off he saw Grimug standing in the meeting spot with two other uruks.

Glorfindel waved to Grimug to get him to notice him. “Hail Grimug how do you fare?”

The large uruk rubbed his head confused by the elf’s greeting. “Good.”

Glorfindel was tall and burly for an elf, but standing in front of this uruk chieftain even he felt small. The chieftain stood about five inches taller than Glorfindel, and he had about twice the muscle mass of him. The other two uruks were much smaller standing two inches shorter than the elven warrior. Mireil was uneasy being so close to the repulsive creatures.

“I’m sure these two are people you can trust.” Glorfindel gestured to the two uruks flanking Grimug.

“Yeah.” Grimug pointed to the uruk on his left then the one on his left, “Trog and Brog, my most trusted captains.”

The twin uruks nodded at the same time.

“Then we can get to it.” Glorfindel thought how best to put it into words, “Aureil herself has a favor to ask of you. If you’re willing to help.”

The chieftain immediately responded, “Of course.”

“Good. She needs you to cause the uruks to turn on each other.” He went into greater detail on where and how much he needed to spread chaos then he was interrupted by a howl in the distance. “Wargs? What are they doing in Udun?”

“No elf knight.” Grimug showed the dread and worry he felt on his face, “That was a werewolf. I accept the mission, so get away while you can!”

Glorfindel had never had the displeasure of fighting one of the dread beasts created by Sauron, but at least right now he didn’t want to risk the encounter. He signaled for his team to fall back to the woods. They stayed at the edge close enough to look back, and see the creature they were avoiding.

The beast was ran on all fours like a wolf, but when it came to Grimug it halted, and stood on its hind legs. The werewolf erect at seven feet tall was only slightly smaller than the chieftain himself. It growled as it sniffed the air with its long snout then it snapped at the air in rage. It seemed as though the creature was merely a beast, but then it began to speak.

“Orc!” It growled, “I smell elf. Fresh maybe ten minutes sense they passed.” The monster spoke more with barely contained rage, “They have to be close still. Ahhh did you dumb whelps allow them to pass?”

“Quiet beast!” The Chieftain’s calm surprised the elf group, “If you think we would let filthy weakness such as them pass with their flesh still on their bones, then I dare you to say it aloud. Then I’ll cleave your head off, and mount it next to my other beast trophies. I have been sent to hunt your rabid kin before!”

The two stared at one another sizing the other up, but the werewolf relented.

“Their scent leads to the forest.” The beast pointed to the spot the elves were hiding. “We should follow their trail and hunt them down.”

“Fool pup.” Grimug shot the proposal down, “You know little of elves. They leave scraps of cloth along in circles to throw off trackers, and if you managed to find the right tracks you would find yourself in an ambush. If you hunt elves you have to catch them you never let them led. We missed our chance this time. I suggest you stick to easier prey for now.”

The werewolf reckoned that was sound advice. “Then I will continue my hunt for the rebel slaves.”

The elves seeing the werewolf did not make to pursue them decided it was good time to leave, and report back.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Erebor

Kuroin the King under the Mountain had been long at work studying the ancient tomes of the library, and after weeks of searching he found the ones he had been searching for. Books over his ancestor’s battles with dragons. He used every bit of knowledge he could dig up on the fighting of such beasts, and used that to outfit two hundred of his best warriors for their hunting. Mithril blades to pierce the scales, black steel crossbow bolts to attack at their eyes, and thick high density iron, forged with an old technique he found in the tome. The iron resists heat and disperses it protecting the wearer from dragon fire for a few seconds.

Even so slaying a dragon is a costly thing. Even the great dwarven warriors of old could only hope to overwhelm a dragon with numbers, and picking away at the creatures’ armor to finally kill it. He forced no one to join in the hunt, and all the members were volunteers; ready to fight and die for honor and to protect their families from the wrath of the dragons.

“King Kuroin.” Vanguard Harin the King’s assault commander bowed to one knee before the throne, “I failed.”

The King stood displeased with the news. “What happened?”

“Goblins my Lord.” Harin looked into the King’s eyes. “They poured over the mountains around Gundabad. We were hit from all sides. Twelve hours we fought in the cold; watching our brothers die beside us as the fight drew on. We killed thousands of them, and they killed dozens of us. Then through the upper pass mountain trolls came down with at least a thousand orcs. After the fight we had lost too many men, and were worn out so we returned by my command.”

“How many made it back?” Kuroin sat back in his throne dreading the answer.

“Less than half my Lord.” The Vanguard paused, “Only two hundred and thirty.”

“Damn the enemy was stronger there than we thought. I do not blame you Harin.” The King knew that had it been possible the Vanguard would have taken Gundabad. “What was the latest report from the dragon hunters?”

“Last raven came six days ago.” Harin reminded himself what the letter said. “It said that they found the dragon’s lair, and haven’t been heard from since.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Six days ago in the Misty Mountains

At the entrance of the cave hundreds of corpses were strewn about, some decayed to nothing more than bones others fresh enough tell what race they were. Most were orcs and uruks, a good sign for the dwarves, it meant the dragon was not allied with Sauron. The older corpses were distinguished by their gear, mithril blades still sharp, and untarnished. The ancient dwarven dragon hunters, clearly not successful a bad sign for the new ones.

Vanguard Dwain the leader of the hunters lead his two hundred dwarven warriors into the cave. Of which included his son Gwarin; like his father the young dwarf was big. He stood three inches taller than most other dwarves, and his arms were twice as thick. The two together have overpowered trolls, and charged over orc infantry many times. Now though as they walked over the desolate rock of the cave they felt a sense of impending doom.

They rounded a corner and saw a horde of finely crafted weapons, with a giant mound of silver to their side, but no dragon in sight. Finally the dwarves let down their guard.

“Where’s the dragon?” Rarley one of the dwarven sappers spoke what they all were thinking.

“I’m sure it was your especially strong stench Rarley.” Gwarin punched the dwarf in the gut laughing.

“I told you its sulfur the stuff smells, but I need it for my explosives.” He tried to explain, even though he knew that thick skull of his wouldn’t allow it.

“Oh yeah soul fur.” Gwarin laughed again, “Ha ha I can make up words too, but I don’t smell like I took a bath in rotten eggs.”

“Keep it down you two.” Dwain turned around after thoroughly surveying the area for the dragon. “You don’t want the dragon to come down on your heads do ya?”

“Actually dad that is what we are here for.” Gwarin stated matter of factly.

“Good point my boy! Continue.” Dwain convinced went to look through the weapon pile with several other warriors.

Gwarin, Rarley, and the other dwarves started talking among themselves, the tension they felt upon entering the cave gone. Many spread out to examine the cave, and its side tunnels. One of the dwarves was particularly interested in the pile of silver to the side of the cave. He ran his hand along the shinning surface, and realized it was all one piece. He gripped one of the grooves on the surface, and tried to pull it off. Then the mound moved, and rose to stand even taller than it had before, it raised to stand around seven dwarves tall.

The dragon’s scales were shimmering silver, its eyes a brand of the same color, but with a glow behind them. The huge beast was sluggish, and didn’t notice the dwarves until after it spread its massive grey wings.

“Ah the cold of these mountains.” It spoke with a booming yet feminine voice, “Here a nap meant to last only a few months turns into a hibernation of a couple years. Oh but I have visitors, and dwarves no less. Seeking to become famous, by killing a dragon perhaps?”

“I’ve already had enough glory, fiend.” Dwain was the first to overcome the surprise of the dragon appearing. “We come here today to avenge our ancestors, and more importantly to protect our kin that still live.”

“A noble cause. I’m sure it comforts you to think that you saved your family, even though you will surely die.” The dragon chuckled. “I am Mallros, the Silver Queen. If you leave now, and drop those exquisite weapons of yours, I will allow at least half of you to live.”

“No dea…” Before Dwain could finish Mallros breathed out a column of fire engulfing twenty of the dwarves, and even their fire resistant shields couldn’t save them. In that direction his son was standing before.

“You bearded folk are so stubborn.” She mocked the dwarf leader seeing the fear in his eyes.

“DAMN YOU!” He charged straight for the monster giving no heed to the recklessness of it.

“Foolish.” Mallros lifted one of her four huge feet to crush him.

Dwain driven by his anger of his son’s death didn’t waver. He pulled a crossbow from his back as he ran forward, and fired the black bolt. Thinking the bolt would do no harm the dragon ignored it, but a second before her talons ended the dwarf the shot hit her in one of her nostrils causing her to recoil in unexpected pain. This caused her to shift her aim, and Dwain was able to side step the blow. While the dragon’s gaze was still off him, he managed to the other foreleg’s ankle, and he swung his axe with all his strength. He snuck his blade several inches into the beast’s flesh underneath the tough scales. This caused the dragon to jerk its foot up, with her other foot forward she lost her balance, and toppled to the ground, rumbling the cave with a quake.

The rest of the dwarves were awe struck. Single handedly Dwain was contending with one of the most dangerous creatures in middle-earth. The sight of it gave them the push they needed to overcome the pain of seeing so many kinsman die in an instant. All at once they roared in bellowing battle-cry. The sound of it sent fear into the heart of even the dragon, but it soon turned to rage. The dwarves closed in on the downed dragon just as it stood back to its feet. Quickly she swatted Dwain away before he could strike again, he was sent sailing into the rock wall on the opposite side of the cave. She inhaled to let loose another column of fire, but the dwarves in the back of the formation fired more black bolts towards her eyes.

She shifted her head to the side avoiding many while others bounced harmlessly off her scales. Not halting her fire in the process, but forced to change her aim, she incinerated fifteen more dwarves. Undaunted they continued to charge reaching her legs, and they began to chip away at her armor.

Gwarin took this time to check on his father. On the other side of the cave he saw the motionless body of Dwain pinned by a two tone boulder. Gwarin inhaled, and gave the rock a powerful shove; rolling it off him. Then he slapped Dwain to rouse him.

“Dad!” He slapped him again with greater force. “Wake up!”

“What the Hell!” Dwain jolted up, then saw his son alive next to him. “Son?”

“It’s me.”Gwarin smiled wide. “Come on. You clearly could’ve taken the dragon yourself, but we thought we’d lend a hand.”

Dwain overjoyed his son was still alive just nodded, and retrieved his axe from the cave floor beside him. The two warriors ran alongside each other toward the dragon, and the dwarves seeing their leader alive cheered. Mallros seeing the source of their cheers, found her opening. She spread her wings raising them high into the air, and then thrusted them downward. The force of the air it pushed away flung many dwarves into the air, and propelled her straight toward Dwain. Both dwarves rolled away avoiding being crushed, but the shockwave of her landing caused them to fall.

Mallros seethed with hate for Dwain. “You never stood a chance against me filth.”

The Dragoness slammed down her tail to ward off the dwarves behind her. At the same time she readied to burn Dwain and his son. Dwain, seeing that neither could hope to out run the flames, grabbed Gwarin by the arm, and threw him to the right with every ounce of might he could find. Gwarin saw as he flew through the air his father engulfed in fire. When he hit the ground he bolted to his feet to look back at Dwain. The inferno cleared, and still standing despite the pain was Dwain still looking at Gwarin with a half melted face.

They locked eyes, and Dwain seeing his son was okay smiled, and said his last words ‘live on my son’. Gwarin cried out in anger and sorrow as the dragon’s claw came down and ended the great warrior. The rest of the dwarves had caught up with the dragon just in time to see the killing blow delivered, and their hearts were filled with anguish. The dragon turned to face them, and began to squash and devour them, breaking their spirt. They fled into the side tunnels, hide behind rocks, and scattered before her as she took her time destroying them. Except Rarley who ran over to Gwarin.

“Gwarin lets go we have to get out of here!” Rarley tried to lift his friend to his feet.

Gwarin suddenly brought a calm to himself. “Rarley fire one of your explosive bolts at her eyes when I get its attention.”

“No you’ll die even all of us were beaten; don’t do it!” Rarley pleaded with him. “Your father told you to live. Don’t throw away your life!”

“I’m not! I’m trying to save theirs.” Gwarin pointed to the dwarves running from Mallros.

They grabbed each other’s wrist, and Rarley spoke with assurance, “Then go be a hero, my friend.”

Gwarin thankful his friend agreed, despite the regret he saw in his eyes, smiled. Gwarin jogged to his father’s crushed body, and picked up his axe. He wielded both axes, one in each hand, with ease; both weapons meant as two-handed. Then throwing away the calm he had put himself under, he roared as loud as he could, the volume rivaling that of all the dwarves when they first charged. Mallros’s attention was pulled to Gwarin, sparing the dwarves she was just about to consume.

He yelled loud enough for everyone in the cave to hear. “There is yet a dwarf that would face you monster!”

Mallros accepted his challenge and ran towards him, and he did the same. The distance between them closed, and she opened her jaws to shred him with her teeth, but before her jaws reached him Rarley’s bolt exploded before her eyes blinding her. Gwarin jumping high into the air and rearing back both axes slamed them down on top of the lowered dragon’s head. Filled with rage his blows struck hard into the dragon’s skull, cracking the harder than steel bone. Her vision returned, but the pain in her head robbed her of reason, she shook him off though as he fell from her head he tore out her left eye with his axes.

She roared in pain shaking the cave. In fury and agony she swung her claws violently sending Gwarin sailing towards Rarley. Not wasting a second he got back to his feet, despite the blow being strong enough to crush in his heavy plate armor.

“Rarley give me one of those sticky bombs!” Gwarin held out a hand.

And Rarley not needing anymore information threw it to him. Gwarin immediately stuck it to the side of his father’s axe blade. Mallros finally spotted him with her remaining eye, and was about to charge him, but the dwarves had rallied once again. Ashamed they had run while one dwarf stood against the dragon; they swore that they would die rather than flee this time. The dwarves were able to cut at her legs enough to keep her from moving. She swatted at them, and crushed them but they gave no ground keeping her from attacking Gwarin.

While she was entangled with them, Gwarin ran to her once again. He threw his father’s axe so hard it sped toward the dragon like an arrow. It hit her in the chest, and exploded; ripping a hole in her chest. The dwarves under her cleaved into her legs bringing her down once more. Still breathing, but too weakened to continue fighting she laid on the ground. Every dwarf looked to Gwarin to deal the final blow. So he lifted his axe high into the air, and buried the blade into the dragoness’s heart. Everyone again looked to Gwarin, awaiting his word.

“Ahhhhhhhh!” He yelled victoriously, and everyone joined him. “Warriors! You have proven yourselves unyielding in the face of death. Stones upon which every tide of enemies will be broken! We will weep for the dead, but remember that they died not in vain. Now see to the wounded, and cut open the dragon’s belly so we may retrieve our fallen brothers.”

After Dwain, Kaerli was next in rank, but he gladly gave his rank as sentinel to Gwarin, for he, and the rest of the dwarves owed him their lives, and they would follow him without question.

Rarley approached his friend with relief written on his face. “I did not expect you to survive.”

“Neither did I.” Gwarin admitted. “It’s thanks to these men, and you that I did.”

“And it is thanks to you that we did.” Rarley added.

Kaerli came up to them. “Sir we retrieved all our fallen, and we found something else in the bile of the dragon’s stomach.” The dwarf held out a ring of finely carved stone, with an obsidian stone in the center.

Rarley recognized the ring from one of the old lore books he had read. “That’s the Ring of Stone, one of the seven rings given to the dwarven Kings of old. Many of the Kings who had them used their power to gain wealth, and that drew in dragons. That means this dragon was one of those great enough to destroy a kingdom.”

“Sir I believe the ring is rightfully yours now.” Kaerli held out the ring to him.

Gwarin looked to Rarley, and he nodded, then Gwarin took the ring, and put it on. He could feel its power flow into him, it increased his strength fivefold, and his skin became as tough as stone, without hindering its flexibility. In his mind he felt a presence.

“Gwarin.” The voice of Sauron spoke in his head. “You have claimed the Stalwart Ring as your own. You are worthy of it son of stone, to possess such a tool. I will not shackle you with it, for you unlike your ancestors have earned it.”

The presence left his mind, and somehow he knew that it was Sauron who spoke, and he knew that he spoke the truth.


End file.
